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“Yes, I did.”
“Very well?”
If she didn’t answer the question, Molly would simply ask someone else, probably her mother. And Bridget didn’t want her mother discussing Jonas with Molly.
“I used to go out with him.”
“On dates?” Molly made a face. “You mean he was your boyfriend?”
“Yes.” Bridget began rolling up the plastic grocery bags and put them in a drawer to reuse.
“Did you love him?”
Bridget turned sharply. “Don’t you think your questions are becoming a little too personal?”
Hearing those words from her daughter struck a raw nerve. For a moment they stared silently at each other, hazel eyes meeting hazel eyes. Molly didn’t demand an answer, but her curiosity gleamed brighter than before.
With a sigh, Bridget relented, wishing she had answered it before rather than risk having the importance of her response magnified out of proportion. “I thought I loved him.”
“What about my father?”
“There are many kinds of love, Molly,” Bridget explained patiently. “You don’t love your grandmother in the same way you love me. That’s the way it always is. I loved your father very much, or I would never have had you.”
Apparently satisfied, Molly chomped a final bite from the apple and sauntered to the window overlooking the valley pasture. Bridget released a deep silent sigh of relief.
“Still and all,” Molly spoke absently, “I wish that man would go away.”
“Everything can’t always be the way you want it. Jonas has the right to live anywhere he wants to live.” Silently Bridget wished that he hadn’t chosen Vermont, or the Hanson farm. Outside of the fact that he was too close for her comfort, it would mean changes in her routine. For one thing, she liked to birdwatch in the woods that bordered his farm and take a shortcut home through what was now his property. And both she and Molly rode all over that land. Mr. Hanson hadn’t minded.
Molly turned from the window, a perplexed and thoughtful frown on her face, chestnut pigtails trailing down her back. “I heard Grandma say that they’d paid him a lot of money to leave once and asked Grandpa if they shouldn’t do it again. Do you suppose they will?”
Unbelievable. Margaret Harrison just couldn’t shut up about the most private things, apparently. Motionless, Bridget tried to find the breath to speak. She would have to have a very serious talk with her mother. What if Molly started saying things like that in school?
“What did your grandfather say?” she asked, dodging a direct answer to the question.
Molly nibbled at the corner of her lip, then sighed, “He said he didn’t think it would work a second time.”
“You know what? I’m beginning to think you heard things wrong. If they didn’t want you to hear, it would be easy to get mixed up and what you’re saying doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. I want you to put it all out of your mind, okay?”
Molly yawned. “Okay.”
Bridget had to admit, if only to herself, it was remotely possible Jonas had returned for reasons having to do with the conversation her daughter had overheard. “Did you dust the furniture today?”
“Yes. Can I go into town with you tomorrow to see Vicki?” Molly tossed the apple core into the wastebasket.
“We’ll see.”
“Please,” she coaxed. “It’s boring all by myself after school.”
“You aren’t by yourself, Molly. You have—”
“Grandpa and Grandma,” she declared with a disgruntled groan.
Bridget felt a flash of guilt for leaving Molly with them so often. But the little girl hadn’t wanted to go to the after-school program this year and she did understand that her mother had to work. “Maybe you can come in tomorrow afternoon.”
“Great!” The frown disappeared in a burst of exuberance. “When do we eat?”
“Cookies and milk didn’t do it, huh?”
